


the good days

by kuro49



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: He comes back, again and again and again (like he’s home).





	the good days

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be brufred but it didn't really end up that way.

 

This age of hero will endure.

Alfred is just not so sure if Bruce Wayne will.

 

He watches him leave each time, allowing that single thought in his head to settle into his bones soak in acceptance. There is a certain degree of fear. A fair amount to be exact if he is honest, but really, he hasn’t been honest for a long time now, not to himself, and most definitely not to Master Wayne. With this degree of fear becoming instincts, Alfred remains hopeful that something will change.

When he sees the man out of his bespoke suit and in another variation of that damn batsuit, Alfred finds himself thinking that dedication will really be the death of the both of them.

Alfred knows better than to allow this fear to take over.

He likes to think that if he comes back, he comes back to him like he’s home, but Alfred thinks a lot of it is muscle memory. Bruce Wayne doesn’t like to live with ghosts, but he is tied to this land as long as there is the heir of the Wayne family bloodline bleeding out of him. He comes back, again and again and again (and it surprises them both every time).

Alfred comes in just as Diana is leaving.

“Thank you for looking after him, Ms. Prince.”

Cape and all, Diana holds a formidable presence, but her smile is still so kind, even after everything, if not tinged in perhaps a little bit of pity. She is looking to him, searching for something that he is relatively sure she is hoping not to find.

“You have a very difficult job, Alfred.”

He looks pass her to see Bruce stripping out of the Batsuit in motions much slower than usual, sees the man treat himself with rare care. But he has also seen the fight in front of the monument. He is surprised a dislocated shoulder is all Batman walked away with.

“It doesn’t get easier with practice.” He admits to her, accepting the pity with if not perhaps a little bit of resignation.

She takes her leave, and he doesn’t bother knocking when he goes in, his hands already going to roll his sleeves up to his elbows.

 

“I would say something, but I’ve already said everything under the sun but you clearly have not been listening.”

Bruce turns around and doesn’t quite not wince. Whether it is at his words or the bruising starting to show everywhere, Alfred is just about ready to give up on deciphering whatever this must be. There is reckless and then there is stupidity, and his charge is displaying a whole lot more of the latter with his recent choices.

To say the least, it is an ugly, _ugly_ sight.

Perhaps it is a sense of responsibility, perhaps it is more or less muscle memory for him too, Alfred gestures at Bruce to sit down.

“I was being careful.” He starts. Bruce has learned a long time ago that it isn’t worth it to go to the length it will take to lie to Alfred Pennyworth. Bruce is not lying, and really, that is the worrying thing here.

“That’s what I am concerned about.”

Alfred touches two fingers to the faintest of the myriad of deep tissue bruising and presses down. Bruce Wayne has every means to not find himself in this present but here he is taking the worst of the blows.

He doesn’t avert his eyes when Bruce turns his head to look at him.

“I can’t stop now, Alfred.”

He looks like he is looking for permission.

Bruce doesn’t think he deserves Alfred. And it shows. There will not be a hint of hesitation if Alfred asks to leave. But Alfred only wants the best for Bruce, and maybe that is where he went wrong, Alfred walking away from any of this is not going to do any favors for a grown man dressed up as a bat.

“You’ve never listened to me before, so why start now, Master Bruce?”

 

Alfred hears and sees everything, and if he could, he would like to take every punch too.

 

He doesn’t have a change of heart. Bruce thinks of it as a single step forward of a continuous run he’s been on for most of his life while Alfred wonders if it is all entirely sentimentality that he allows himself to this. He is probably kinder than he has to be.

Alfred steps back, looks at the state of Bruce’s back and has to wonder when the day that he can’t do a thing about his injuries will come.

“You’re far more human than you give yourself credit for.” Alfred mutters, going back to a conversation they’ve had before, drawing back every bitter emotion Bruce drudged up when he tells him the reason behind what he is about to do.

The world needs Superman and this team he has scavenged together needs Clark. But Bruce doesn’t see the expression he has on his face and the resignation etched into each twist of his mouth as he continues, thinking he has a point in a potential future where he gets to atone for every bad thing he has done.

“I don’t need that out there.” Bruce answers, like he hasn’t been actively seeking death out since he invented this cowl for himself. “It will only get me killed faster.”

Batman is born of necessity.

Batman is also born of a lingering thought that Bruce Wayne should have died that same night his parents did too.

“In that case, you don’t have to worry at all, you’re doing an excellent job of killing yourself.” Alfred tells him, calm. Reason has never once got through to Bruce, it isn’t about to start now. He hopes it stings like resolution always does. Life is full of regrets, he will not make this into one more for himself. Alfred continues with an ease that does not match the weight behind his words. “If I could atone for every bad thing I’ve done in my life, I would not have the chance to serve you. I’m glad I wasn’t able to.”

 

Bruce thinks of Alfred in words he has no right to.

His apology comes late, and he is probably three steps too far away to make this seem genuine. But he is, and Alfred knows him too well to know an apology when it comes.

“You’ve been busy.”

Pozharnov returns not quite to the state it was before, but it isn’t ridden with Parademons and that has to be a change for the better. The television coverage does not stop, and it plays in the background.

“Someone has to keep things in order around here.”

“Even if there is no more Wayne Manor?”

Alfred turns his head back to Bruce, standing there in his half-shed armour, telling him what essentially translates to you have no obligation to me. And it sounds like a reminder, as if he can forget.  Of all the things a young Bruce has asked for in the aftermath, he never did ask Alfred for a promise to remain at his side.

He doesn’t bat an eye, but he also doesn’t turn away either.

Perhaps, this is why he stays.

“Clearly you have no idea how much work goes into keeping a glass house clean.”

His obligation has never once been the Wayne Manor. It has, no matter how despicable the results might be, always been Bruce Wayne.

Dedication has its downfall, but it has yet to bring him down. He thinks there has to be merits to loyalty like this, and if he greys any faster, at least the two of them would match.

 

Wayne Manor still stands, amidst a bit tattered and broken around the edges.

Perhaps, this time, when they push the doors open, it wouldn’t be tragedy that comes to mind. Perhaps, it could be hope.

 


End file.
